


Key to my soul, Part 1

by Lyn



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universes, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 06:52:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/795109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyn/pseuds/Lyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim Ellison, detective meets Blair Sandburg, anthropologist under different circumstances and finds he is drawn to the young man he rescues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Key to my soul, Part 1

This story has been broken into two parts. 

## Key to my soul

by Lyn

Author's website:  <http://brothersinarms.tvheaven.com>

DISCLAIMER: The characters of The Sentinel are the property of Di Meo, Bilson and Petfly. This fanfic has been written for my own and others' enjoyment. No money has been paid and no copyright infringement is intended. 

AUTHOR'S NOTES: I really don't know where this story came from. I'd been toying with the idea of writing a story where Jim and Blair meet under different circumstances, but still get together as Sentinel and Guide, and this is what happened. I know it seems as though I'm fixated on rape stories. I'm not, really. They're just great to put Blair at his most vulnerable and Jim at his most protective. 

I hope you enjoy it. 

Heartfelt thanks to Wolf, my beta. Once again, she has done a stellar job on my ramblings. I have worked on it since Wolf sent it back to me, so any remaining errors are mine.   


This story contains violence, rape/nc and language.

* * *

**KEY TO MY SOUL -- Part One**

"Ellison? My office." 

Detective Jim Ellison looked up at his captain's summons and closed the report he'd been working on. He pushed his tall frame away from the desk with a sigh and stood twisting his back to rid himself of the knots there. Entering the captain's office, Jim eyed the young man seated in front of the desk. The captain looked up and spoke as Jim shut the door. 

"Jim, this is Detective Scott Wilson from Missing Persons." 

The younger detective stood and extended a hand, as Jim looked him over appraisingly. Scott Wilson was on the short side for a cop, and of a wiry build. His brown curls were cut close to his head and his face held a friendly, pleasant smile. Another time, Jim might have been interested enough to chat the man up, flirt with him a little. But today was too close to the bust-up of his latest short-lived relationship and Jim was still hurting too much to pay more than a passing interest to the man's attractive qualities. He took the hand proffered in his and shook it quickly before turning back to the captain. 

"What's up, sir?" 

Simon Banks motioned his detective to a seat before he spoke. "Detective Wilson has been investigating what appears to be a series of unusual missing persons cases. I'll let him tell you himself." 

Scott Wilson cleared his throat and straightened his tie. "I've been working in Missing Persons here at the PD for six months now, Detective. There has been a spate of reported missing persons over that time that appear to be, let's say, suspicious, for want of a better word." Jim nodded, impatient for the man to get to the point. "Anyway, these people seem to share some striking similarities. They are young males, mid-twenties, generally in situations where it is not unexpected for them to disappear for reasonably long periods of time. It's usually a month or two before anyone comes forward to lodge a report. By then, the trail is pretty cold. So far, twelve young men have disappeared in the past six months. Only one has surfaced again." 

Jim sat in silence for a moment, analyzing the detective's story before he formulated his questions. "Do we have photos, background?" 

Scott Wilson nodded and picked up a folder from the desk in front of him. He flipped it open and held it out to Jim. The detective took it and pulled the photos from the pocket within, spreading the pictures out over the captain's desk. The men were all similar in looks and build, all young, their bodies not unlike the young detective sitting opposite him now, all attractive, fresh-faced, innocent-looking. One face stood out from the others and Jim picked the photo up, studying the smiling face intently. "What can you tell me about this one?" 

Scott leaned forward slightly to check out the photograph and then sat back. "He was the last one. His name is Blair Sandburg. He's a graduate student at Rainier University. He's studying anthropology. He's twenty-five, unmarried, no family here in Cascade, except his mother. She travels a lot. He went missing a month ago. He also travels a lot due to his studies, visits various archeological and anthropological digs here and in South America and Mexico. Plus, he and his mother moved around a lot when he was younger. It wasn't unusual for him to simply tire of living where he was and move on. No one became suspicious until summer break ended and he didn't show up for class. According to his mother and his friends, there is no way that he would abandon his studies." 

Jim mulled over the information. He flipped quickly through the remaining pictures but his attention kept returning unerringly to the young man with long curls, two earrings in one ear and a wide smile on his face. 

"Okay," Jim said finally, looking at his captain. "What's this got to do with Major Crimes?" 

Captain Simon Banks took over the narrative then. "One week ago, a young man walked into Cascade General Hospital. He had been beaten, starved and repeatedly raped. His name is David Martin and he is one of Detective Wilson's missing men. The story he told police seemed to be too bizarre to be believed, at first. When his name was flagged on a missing person report, Detective Wilson was contacted. It appears that there is a slave- market operating in Cascade. Seems whoever runs this operation moves around a lot. They kidnap young men off the street, men who are not going to be missed for some time, and sell them to the highest bidder to be used as sex-slaves, prostitutes." Simon looked sickened by the words but he continued. "When the heat gets a little too much, they move on." 

"They must know that this guy got away," Jim said. "Surely, they won't hang around now." 

Scott Wilson sat forward, his hands tightening on the folder he clutched. "I agree and that's why I'm here. I want to catch these bastards before they can get away. The man who escaped was too traumatized to give us anything to work with, beyond what was done to him." The young detective looked uncomfortable. "He has no idea of where he was kept, except that he was kept in a hole in the ground. He doesn't know how many other men were there with him. The poor guy is practically catatonic. I received an anonymous tip that these guys are going to try to sell off what they can of their remaining cargo and kill what they can't sell. Then they'll move on to fresh pastures. I was also given the name of a bar where contact is made if you're looking to buy." 

"I'll do it," Jim said instantly. He looked at the captain. "Set it up, Simon." He looked back at the other detective. "Any idea how long we have?" 

Wilson shrugged and held out his hands. "Depends on how confident they are, I guess. This is a very polished operation, Detective. They appear to have been operating throughout the United States for close to three years now and the information is filtering in that it may have been a European business before then. The cops have gotten close before and they've always managed to elude capture. Maybe they have an inside connection." 

Jim nodded and stood. "What's the name of the bar. We can scope the place out tonight." 

"Jim, I was thinking of sending in Brian Rafe," Simon said. 

"Why?" Jim asked instantly. 

Simon stood and moved around the desk, ushering Jim toward the door. He turned back to the still-seated detective and smiled. "Excuse us, just for a minute, would you?" 

The detective nodded and set about gathering up the photos from the desk. Simon turned to Jim as soon as they exited the office and closed the door. "Jim, I want you on the outside for this one. With your senses," he lowered his voice conspiratorially, "you can listen in, give us the signal when we need to move in. If they frisk Rafe, they won't find anything. With you listening in, he won't need to wear a wire." 

Jim was already vehemently shaking his head as Simon spoke. "No," he answered firmly. "I want to be the one to go in. I've got the Vice experience. I need...Simon, I can't explain it. I want to go in." 

Simon looked at him quizzically. "Is it something to do with that kid?" he asked. "The one whose photo you were so interested in? Jim, you know that I've never had a problem with your sexual orientation but..." 

Jim blushed but stood his ground. "I can't explain it, Simon, but as soon as I looked at that photo, I felt something." Jim sighed and scrubbed a hand through his cropped hair. "Look, Simon, it's because of my sexual orientation that you should send me in. I know these bars. I know the actions, the talk. I won't raise suspicion. I can track these guys and still signal you when to come in." 

Simon studied the other detective silently for a long moment, then nodded. "All right." He raised a finger in admonition. "But if I find out that you're doing this because of some sort of crush you have on that kid..." 

"I thought you knew me better than that, sir." 

Simon nodded. "You're right. I do. I'm sorry. But consider yourself warned all the same." He turned toward his office and opened the door. "All right. Let's get this show on the road." 

0~0~0~0~0 

Jim Ellison toyed idly with his coaster as he waited for the pony-tailed young man to return with his drink. Some casual scouting by Jim's sometime partner, Brian Rafe, had netted the information that Karl, said to be the second-in-command of the slave operation, would deal only with buyers directly. Rafe had passed the word that Jim was James Edwards, a wealthy businessman from Texas, looking for a toy or two. Jim thought back to the young man whose photo had captivated him earlier that day. There was something familiar about the face that had smiled back at him. Jim would have taken on the job anyway. He was a cop after all, and a good one at that, but there was something there that had pulled at him, as though the young man himself was begging for help. He sighed as he watched the comings and goings of the restaurant and wondered what suffering the young man was experiencing now, while people went about their business and pleasure, unaware of his existence. 

Jim looked up as his drink was placed in front of him. He waited until the waiter turned to leave before speaking. "You give good service," the sentinel made a show of peering at the man's badge, "Jose. I'd like to give you a little extra for your trouble." Jim pulled a thick wad of bills from his breast pocket and peeled off a fifty, pressing it into Jose's hand[a1][a2][a3]. 

Jose bowed slightly as his fingers curled over the notes. "Thank you, senor." 

Jim tightened his grip as the man made to pull away. "I'm looking to buy something special," he began. "A gift for a friend. I was told that you could get a message to Karl for me." 

Jose's eyes narrowed and he licked his lips. "We only sell food and drink here, senor." 

Jim peeled off a couple more notes and pushed them into the waiter's sweating palm. "I hear that Karl has some interesting...wares for sale. A friend recommended him." 

Jose shrugged. "I would not know, senor. I am just a waiter." He shrugged. "And sometimes a messenger." He looked down at the cash still in Jim's hand. "Karl prefers a retainer up front for good faith." 

"How much?" Jim asked. 

"$25,000," Jose answered. 

"That's a lot of good faith," Jim commented. "The goods would want to be first class." 

"There are only one or two left of the particular items you're after," Jose replied. "I have been told, though, that Karl has saved the best for last." 

Jim pulled a business card with his false details printed on it from his pocket and wrapped the remaining bank notes around it. "Tell Karl to call me, but make it soon. I'm leaving tomorrow night and I'd like to take my purchase with me." 

"You don't want to negotiate a price first?" 

"If the goods are as good as you say, the price won't matter," Jim said. "Once I see the merchandise for myself, if I decide to make the purchase, I want the gift packaged, ready to be shipped straight to my Lear jet. Tell Karl I don't want damaged stock either." 

Jose nodded. "Expect a call in two, maybe three hours." 

0~0~0~0~0 

The occupant of the dingy pit started as the heavy door concealing his prison was opened and a rickety ladder was lowered to the ground. Whimpering softly, the bedraggled man curled himself tightly into a ball on the ragged matting in dreaded anticipation of the torment about to start. 

He moaned as a flashlight was shone onto his bruised and battered body and he dragged himself into a corner with difficulty as his captor picked up a long piece of metal and prodded him roughly. 

"Get up, Thursday. You're wanted." 

The man who had spoken leaned over him and reached out an arm, grasping the trembling young man by the wrist and dragging him forward until he sprawled in front of him. He smiled evilly and turned to his partner. "We've got a few minutes. Let's have a little fun with Thursday here." 

The other man licked his lips. "You think we should? What if the boss finds out?" 

"Who's gonna tell the boss? Thursday?" He leaned down and whispered in the young man's ear. "You wouldn't rat on us, Thursday, if we had a little fun, would you?" 

The young man moaned softly but did not speak and his guard straightened and poked him once more with the pole. "Present!" 

The prisoner struggled to his knees and placed his arms behind his back, crossing them at the wrists. He fought to stay upright, his frail, naked body shuddering with fatigue and chills. He closed his eyes tightly as a stray tear escaped and trickled down his cheek. He knew what came next. 

"Attention!" 

The young man surged up to his feet with extreme difficulty; the small effort exerted exhausting him already. 

"Present!" 

Again, he dropped to his knees, wincing as the concrete floor bit into his knees. The game went on for several more minutes. Both men were now participating in calling the commands and the young man knew he could not withstand much more. Finally, he could no longer raise himself from his knees and he lifted wide, saddened eyes to his captors, begging silently for a reprieve he knew would not come. 

"Not fast enough, Thursday. You know what happens when you're not fast enough." 

"Please." The word was forced from a throat hoarse from disuse and even as he spoke, the young man knew his entreaties only served to fuel more enjoyment for the men. 

"You know the rules, Thursday," the larger man said as he unbuckled his belt and drew it through the loops of his pants. "Take your position." He waited, flexing the belt in his hands, enjoying the shudders of fear that ran through his captive at the noise. 

The prisoner turned slowly until he faced the wall, then bent until he rested on his hands and knees. He leaned forward until his forehead touched the ground and waited for the first blow to fall. He flinched as the belt bit into his back and raised the first welt but he did not cry out. Tears dribbled down his dirty cheeks, leaving white tracks in their wake. 

"That's one, Thursday," the man intoned as he pulled his arm back for the next blow. The young man did not respond. His shoulders shook as silent tears fell, and he chanted brokenly. "My name is Blair. My name is Blair," he whispered in time to the fall of the belt on his back. 

"Hey, Andrews." A third voice summoned the men from above and Andrews stopped mid-stroke and looked up. 

"Boss says to get a move on. Looks like he might have a buyer for Thursday coming in tomorrow. He wants to say good-bye properly, if you get my drift." 

Andrews nodded and bent again to the man huddled on the floor in front of him. "So, this might be our last night together, Thursday. What a shame. I was kind of hoping to get me a piece of your very fine ass before you left." 

He trailed a hand down Blair's back as he spoke, ignoring the shudder that went through the young man as his fingers touched the inflamed welts. Stroking lower, he forced his hand between Blair's legs and grasped his balls, squeezing gently. "Might still be time later." Abruptly he stood and held a hand to his nose. "Not until you've been cleaned up though. Christ, you stink. Kelly, hose him down, then take him to the boss." 

Kelly nodded and walked over to the hose that lay coiled a few feet away. "You know the drill, Thursday. Back in your corner." 

Blair crawled awkwardly toward a corner of the pit, his hurting body screaming in protest at the action. He gasped as a spray of icy cold water assaulted him, raking over him in razor-sharp pellets. He huddled into a small tight ball and tried to escape the punishing flow, then the water was turned off and he was thrown a small scrap of cloth and ordered to dry himself. He did so as best he could, then dragged himself forward once more and knelt, his hands at the small of his back as handcuffs and a collar and lead were snapped into place. 

A tug on the leash started him forward and he attempted to keep up with the fast pace of his captor, more than once stumbling to his knees and choking as the collar was pulled tight around his throat until he gained his feet. He looked down at the empty pit as he was pushed up the ladder. 'I'm the last one,' he thought to himself. 'Please God, let me be the last.' 

0~0~0~0~0 

Jim pulled a cold beer from the fridge and walked slowly to the couch. He sat down, then frowned and leaned forward, pulling a cell phone from his pocket. He placed the phone on the coffee table and stared at it for a moment, willing it to ring. When it remained stubbornly silent, he sat back and took a long swallow of his beer. He had to be patient, he knew. Karl and his cronies would likely check Jim's credentials first before making any attempt at contact. 

'Only one or two left.' The words had haunted him on the drive back to the loft. What if it wasn't Blair? What if Blair had already been sold or killed. Jim shook his head to banish the thoughts. Whoever the remaining young men were, if he could save even one of them and put these animals away, it would be worthwhile, he knew. 

He started as the phone rang. He dropped his beer quickly to the table and picked up the phone, thumbing it on. "Edwards," he announced. He listened carefully to the instructions on the other end of the phone, and wondered whether he should extend his hearing and listen for background clues, then discarded the idea just as quickly. He couldn't risk his senses going out of whack now. 

"Fine. I'll see you tomorrow at the restaurant," the detective answered. He hung up the phone and sat back with a sigh. 'Finally,' he thought. 'Now we take these bastards down.' Leaning forward, he picked up the cordless phone and dialed his captain's number. 

0~0~0~0~0 

Blair stumbled a little as he was pushed inside the small office area. He reached out a hand and steadied himself against the wall, then stood silently, trembling in fearful apprehension. He knew what was about to happen, though he had not been here before now. The others had been brought to the office before they went away. One by one they had been leashed and dragged off and Blair had heard their cries of fear and pain. He had huddled in the corner of the pit, his hands clamped tightly over his ears but still their agony could be heard and then they would disappear forever. 

The men had all come to know each other in the time that Blair had been captive here. Though they had begun as strangers, their mutual terrors and mistreatment had made them brothers, of the heart, at least. At night, when the warehouse was quiet, they would whisper to each other, talking of family and friends, of hopes and dreams until the guards hoisted their long poles and prodded them into silence. They would pass on messages of love for family and friends, in the hope that one of them might escape their prison. And David had; though they had no idea whether he was alive or dead. In the week since his escape, there had been hurried packing up of equipment and then Blair's friends had begun to rapidly disappear. One by one, the guards had come for them; they would be dragged out and leashed, then hauled away, never to return, only their screams of pain and cries for help echoing in Blair's head. Then it was completely silent, save for the soft sobbing of those left behind. 

Movement to his right startled him and he shrank away from the man who walked slowly toward him. The man was truly repulsive, tall and fat, with a thick scar that ran through one sightless eye and ended at the corner of his mouth. "So, here you are, Thursday. I've been saving you for last. I've always done that, you know. Saved the best for last," the man said conversationally, as he circled Blair, one beady eye raking greedily over Blair's trembling body. 

He snaked a hand out suddenly and Blair jumped. "Don't be afraid, Thursday. We're going to get to know each other a little before you go to your new owner." 

"No, please," Blair whispered. "Don't hurt me." The blow that came staggered him and he raised a hand to his stinging cheek. 

"You dare to speak without permission," the man shouted, his heavy accent growing thicker seemingly in proportion to his anger. He raked the papers that lay scattered on the desk to the ground and hooked a fist into Blair's matted curls dragging him forward until the young man lay bent forward over the desk. The fat man strode to the other side and grabbed Blair's hands, unlocking the cuffs and then shackling them to the far legs of the desk. Blair moaned softly as his shoulders were stretched to their limits, the muscles screaming in protest. Then the man returned to stand behind him, kicking roughly at Blair's legs until they were forced apart. 

The anthropologist screamed as a hard finger was pushed into him with no preamble. The digit thrust harshly and Blair writhed in agony as the pressure caused his hole to burn. The man leaned his mouth close to Blair's ear. "Enjoy that, do you, slut? Let me give you a little more." 

This time, three fingers were shoved into him and Blair fought to escape the pain, ignoring the crushing weight of the wood against his penis. Suddenly, the fingers were gone and Blair lowered his head to the desk, sobbing in exhaustion and fright. Then something even larger and harder invaded him and he arched up and struggled madly to get away. A hand fisted in his hair as the man slammed into him over and over. "Oh yeah, baby. So tight, so hot," Blair's attacker grunted as he rode the other man brutally. "I do believe I'm your first." The man groaned then, thrusting hard into Blair's now bleeding ass, driving himself deeper until he felt his orgasm overtake him. He froze, leaning forward over his victim's bent back and bit into the young man's exposed neck as he came. He pulled his spent cock out immediately, stripping the condom from it and tossing it into the trash. "Andrews!" he called as he zipped up his fly. 

Andrews stuck his head around the partly open door and nodded at the mute young man collapsed over the desk. "You done?" 

The man nodded. "I'm going to take a shower. We have a potential buyer for Thursday. He'll be here tomorrow night. Take him back to the pit and get him cleaned up." 

Andrews sauntered over to Blair and pulled a handcuff key from his pocket. Leaning over, he unlocked the shackles and watched as Blair slid bonelessly to the ground, his eyes staring vacantly. "So, can I have a taste?" 

"No!" The boss stopped in the doorway and pointed at the welts that crisscrossed the young man's back. "Looks like you already had your fun." With that, he turned and stalked from the room. 

"Come on, you little shit." Andrews hooked a hand beneath Blair's shoulder and hauled the silent man to his feet, steering him out the door and back to his prison. He grimaced distastefully at the blood that trickled from between Blair's ass cheeks. "Looks like he really made the most of his time with you, Thursday. Last one always gets it good." 

0~0~0~0~0 

Jim watched as Jose, the waiter from the previous night, approached his table, his demeanor wheedling and deferential. Jim smiled grimly to himself. Rafe must have really spun them a tall tale. His partner had a bent for the dramatic, more suited to being on the stage than in a police station. Still, it was working to Jim's advantage now. 

"Senor." Jose bowed. "If you would follow me." 

Jim nodded and drained the coffee from his cup before rising to his feet. "Where are we going?" 

Jose shook his head. "I have my instructions. There is a driver waiting for you. That is where my responsibility ends." 

"Fine," Jim answered. "I don't need any screw ups on this. I've got a reputation to consider." 

He followed the waiter to the rear of the restaurant, then through the busy kitchen and out the back door. A car was in the alleyway, its engine idling and the rear door open. Jim turned to speak to the waiter but Jose was nowhere to be seen, though the detective's extended hearing could hear his heartbeat receding back into the depths of the restaurant. 

"Don't go to sleep on me now, Simon," Jim whispered, praying that the miniscule microphone inserted into the collar of his shirt was picking up his words. "We're on our way." 

He bent and climbed into the back seat of the limousine and looked around curiously as the car pulled out of the alley. The interior was in total darkness, not a hindrance for a sentinel and Jim dialed up his sight to compensate. He turned slightly in his seat and looked through the tinted rear window, watching the surveillance van disappear from view and hoping that Simon would stick to the game plan. They had already assumed that Jim would be ferried to the buy site and had decided that the surveillance team would remain at the restaurant until Jim told them he had arrived. Then they would track his location, courtesy of the tracking device concealed in his jacket lining. 

Jim turned back to face the front and surveyed the driver's section. The dividing panel was tinted also and Jim could not make out more than a shadow, even with his heightened sight. A voice crackled through the intercom, its tone strangely computerized. "There is a blindfold on the seat next to you. Please put it on." 

Jim picked up the black scarf and fingered it but hesitated a moment. "I don't know about this." 

The car pulled to the side of the road and the voice spoke again. "The choice is entirely yours, Mr. Edwards. Stay or go." 

Jim tied the scarf over his eyes and sat back, stretching one arm casually over the back of the seat. He extended his hearing in an attempt to track the car's progress through the streets of Cascade. After around twenty minutes, he felt the car stop once more and sat up in expectation as the door opened and a hand was hooked under his arm. "Here so soon?" he asked, using the code words for the rest of the team to begin tracking his whereabouts. "I was just getting comfortable." 

The hand tightened on his arm. "No talking." 

Jim shrugged and allowed himself to be helped from the car. The moment he heard doors closing behind him, he whipped off the blindfold and looked around, blinking rapidly to dispel the darkness from his vision. A tall gray-haired man dressed in a dark expensive looking suit, stood in front of him and held out a hand. 

"Mr. Edwards. It's a pleasure to do business with you. My contacts tell me you have exquisite taste in the finer things in life. I hope that what I have here will impress you. I am Karl. Come." 

He indicated the way to the rear of the vast warehouse and strode off. Jim followed closely behind, desperately dialing up his sight and hearing to get an indication of how many people were in the building. Six, he thought, at least six. He had no idea of course, if that number included the captive men or even if they were inside the structure. 

He was led into a large office and shown to a seat. Karl waved a hand at the decanters on the desk. "Help yourself to a drink. I'll only be a minute." 

Jim nodded his thanks and reached for a bottle. He mixed a drink then sat, nursing it in his hands, extending his senses once more through the building. His eyes took in the video camera placed on a tripod in the corner of the room. Cameras could mean microphones as well so he decided to maintain radio silence for the time being. He looked up as the door opened once more and Karl came back into the room. He approached the table and poured a shot of scotch into a tumbler. 

"Where's the boss?" Jim asked idly. 

"He had to leave," Karl replied. "Urgent business elsewhere. I just need to make this last sale and then I'll be joining him." He downed the drink in one swallow then placed the glass back on the desk. 

'Damn,' Jim thought but he carefully schooled his features not to show his disappointment. 

"I handle the financial details. Now, let me show you what we have on offer tonight." He clapped his hands and another man entered the room, holding a leash in one hand. He tugged on the leash when there appeared to be some resistance and with a choking cry, a pathetic creature stumbled into the room. The young man was painfully thin; his naked body shivering from either cold or fear, probably both, Jim decided. His arms and legs bore numerous bruises and abrasions as did his bony torso and his dark curls tumbled in filthy disarray about his shoulders. 

Blair. 

Jim took a step toward the trembling young man but stopped when Blair whimpered softly and stepped backwards, stumbling over his own feet and choking violently as the collar and leash around his throat stopped his fall abruptly. 

"Get up, Thursday." 

The man holding the leash jerked it hard and the young man staggered back to his feet. His eyes widened in fearful apprehension as he watched Jim's approach and the detective fought to keep his outward appearance casual and clinical. Jim slowly stretched out a hand and laid it on the young man's face, tilting his head up toward him. 

"He is indeed a beauty, is he not?" Karl asked and Jim could only nod mutely. Jim allowed his gaze to rake over the man and felt his blood begin to boil in anger as he took in the evidence of abuse that the captive had suffered. 

"He is well-endowed, despite his small stature," Karl said. "I am sure he could give pleasure for many hours. Show him," he barked suddenly, and the man with the leash snaked out a hand and grasped Blair's cock, stroking it roughly until it hardened and jutted up, despite the young man's keening wail of distress. Jim tried not to avert his eyes from the disgusting display and his horror deepened as he spied the leather cord tied tightly around the young man's balls. "Get that off him," he ordered. 

Karl regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, then nodded and the man with the leash bent to remove the leather from Blair's genitals. Jim stepped closer to the frightened man and cupped his face once more in his hand. "What's your name?" 

"We call him Thursday, that's the day he was picked up," Karl offered and Jim spared him a glare before returning his gaze to the man before him. 

"I asked him." 

Blair swallowed convulsively and spoke softly, his frightened eyes darting from Jim to Karl. "My name...my name is Bl..." He cowered as the leash man raised the strap and placed it lightly on his shoulder. "My name is Thursday," he said finally around a sob. 

"Hmm," Jim muttered. "I'll have to think of something better for you later." He glared at Karl. "I said I didn't want him damaged." 

Karl shrugged nonchalantly. "He needed to be taught a lesson. Are you interested or not? I don't have all night and I've had other offers." 

'I'll just bet you have,' Jim thought, looking at Karl with barely disguised disgust. The detective cocked his head as though thinking, in reality listening to the sounds of cars pulling up outside. He reached into his pocket slowly. "I think we have a deal," he said. "Let's see, $25,000 down payment. What do you say to another $25?" 

Karl shook his head. "The boss is thinking more along the lines of $75 grand." 

Jim pretended to consider the offer, his heart beginning to race as he heard the footsteps that were suddenly pounding in their direction. "Sorry, think I'll turn you down," he replied as the office door burst open and Simon, Rafe and several other officers stood in the doorway, weapons raised to cover the men inside the room. 

"Cascade PD," Simon bawled. "Everyone, stay right where you are." 

The leash man turned and made a run for the other side of the office where there was another door and suddenly chaos erupted as the lights went out all over the warehouse. Sparks from gunfire sizzled in the blackness and Jim dove to the side, wincing as red-hot fire burned along his forearm. He extended his sight and spotted Karl crawling toward the door, behind the leash man. 

"Simon, far side, cover me," he whispered urgently to the captain. He waited until Simon nodded and then followed the two fleeing men. The door led to another larger room in the warehouse and Jim kept to the wall, hoping that the packing crates stacked there would provide some cover from the other men. 

He heard a creaking sound to his right that sounded like a door being opened but before he could take a look, movement to his right snapped his attention back and he saw Karl emerge from the shadows, a handgun leveled at the detective. Jim pulled his own revolver from its ankle holster and dived and fired in the same moment. Karl staggered slightly as a large red spot blossomed on his forehead and then he fell forward and did not move again. Suddenly the lights were on again and Jim stood and looked back toward the office as Rafe called his name. 

"Did you get them?" 

Jim shook his head, then moved to the dead man's side, kicking the gun from his hand. "One of them." 

Rafe nodded. "There are reinforcements outside. I doubt he'll get past them. Where's the kid?" 

Jim cursed. Looking around, he could find no sign of Blair. "Shit! I don't know. I lost track of him when you guys burst in." 

"He won't have gotten far," Rafe began to say but Jim silenced him with his hand. The detective stood still in the vast space and extended his hearing. From the far end of the warehouse, he detected a racing heartbeat and quiet muffled sobs. Jim held a finger to his lips as Simon appeared from the office doorway, his mouth opened to speak. Pointing with his hand in the direction of the sounds, Jim holstered his weapon and walked slowly to the far end of the warehouse. 

He stopped dead in his tracks at the sight before him. Directly below him was a pit, much like those used by mechanics, only this one was much larger. Looking around, Jim spied a ladder and quickly lowered it to the floor below. He took a careful look around as he climbed down the steps. The pit was strewn with a few old, thin blankets and several hoses lay neatly wound up in coils in one corner next to a pile of long metal rods. A plastic bucket from which a sour stench of waste emanated was in the opposite corner and Jim steeled his stomach against the revolt that threatened. Blair was huddled into the far corner. His body was curled into a tight ball, his thin arms cradled up around his head as he rocked rapidly back and forth. 

"Oh Jesus." Simon's voice was loud in his ear and caused Jim to jump. He dialed down his hearing as he crouched and slowly approached the terrified young man. He extended one hand out and waited until Blair's movements stopped. The detective's nose wrinkled at the pungent odor of urine and looking down, he realized that Blair had lost control of his bladder in his fright and now lay in a small puddle of his own waste. Turning down his scent at the fetid odors emanating from the pit, Jim spoke softly. 

"Blair? My name is Jim and I'm a police officer. I've come to take you home." 

The young man resumed his rocking and muttering. Concentrating, Jim could hear him chanting one phrase over and over. "My name is Blair. My name is Blair." 

Jim crawled a little closer, finally able to touch the other man's shoulder. Blair recoiled from his touch and he lifted his hand, moving it so that it wavered just above the young man's trembling shoulder. "Blair? Come on, Chief. Let's get you home to your family." 

Blair finally looked up at those words, his face streaked with tears, mucus and grime. "Mom?" he whispered. 

Jim's heart clenched and he nodded. "Yes. We'll take you to your mom." 

A shaky hand finally reached out and scraped fingers closed around his. Jim gently pulled the younger man toward him, startled when Blair's arms wrapped around him and the frightened man burrowed into his embrace. He allowed himself to hold the young man for a moment, then stood, pulling Blair up with him. 

"I'm sorry. I'm ruining your jacket." Blair's voice sounded hoarse and weak. 

"It's not a problem, Chief." 

Jim swung the thin body into his arms as Blair's knees buckled beneath him. He nodded his gratitude as Rafe pulled off his jacket and draped it over the shivering body. "Medics?" 

"Outside," Rafe said. "Let me give you a hand." 

Jim shook his head and began to walk toward the ladder. "It's fine. I've got him." Helping hands were extended down toward him and he looked up to see a paramedic leaning into the pit. Reluctantly, he released his unconscious bundle to the care of the paramedics, and hurried up the ladder to fall in step beside them. Once outside, he climbed in beside them as they loaded the gurney into the back of the ambulance, his steely glare brooking no argument. 

Simon sighed and nodded. "I'll tie everything up here and meet you at the hospital. Find out how long before we can talk to the kid. The head honcho got away?" 

Jim nodded and turned his attention back to the slight, still body on the stretcher as the doors were shut and the ambulance pulled out. 

0~0~0~0~0 

Jim looked up from his seat on the bed in the trauma room as the door was pushed open and Simon stepped inside. The captain nodded at the white bandage encircling Jim's forearm. "You all right?" 

Jim nodded and got down from the bed. "Yeah. Just a scratch. How's the kid?" 

"I haven't heard anything yet. I think they're still checking him out. We picked up everyone who was in the warehouse, except the mastermind. Once this victim is up to it, we need to get a statement. The other perps aren't talking and Sandburg may be the only witness who can give us a description of this guy." 

"What about the first victim?" 

Simon sighed and lowered himself into a seat. "David Martin committed suicide this morning, Jim. His mother found his body in his bedroom. He overdosed. Left a note saying he couldn't live with the memories. Shit!" He slammed his hand down onto the bedside cabinet. "Sometimes, I hate this job." 

"Yeah." Suddenly, Jim went completely still, his head cocked slightly to one side. 

"Jim? Jim?" Simon stood quickly and stepped to the detective's side. As he placed a hand on Jim's shoulder, the detective shuddered, then headed for the door. "I'm okay, Simon. Blair's awake and he's panicking." 

Simon quickly followed the other man out of the trauma room and up the corridor. By the time, they reached an exam room, three doors up; Jim didn't need sentinel senses to hear the chaos erupting within. Several raised voices mingled with the rattle and crash of a number of metallic objects and a keening wail of protest. 

Jim stormed through the door and went straight to the bed. Blair sat hunched in one corner of the gurney, his legs bent up to his chin and his hands wrapped securely about his knees. 

The detective could see Blair's body shuddering violently through the thin hospital gown that covered him. Jim saw Simon wrinkle his nose at the strong odor of sweat, blood and urine that emanated from the young man. An IV was inserted into the back of one hand; it's tubing stretched to its limit across the bed and metal stirrups were attached to the foot. A large male nurse stood at the side of the bed nearest Blair, a set of restraining straps swinging from his hand as he gripped Blair's forearm tightly with the other. From the corner of the room, a doctor and a second nurse emerged, the doctor holding a filled syringe. "Okay, Mike, Chris, hold him tight." 

The two nurses nodded and reached forward, trying desperately to keep a hold of the now frantically struggling man. Jim stayed them with an upraised hand and a primal growl. As all three stopped their actions in surprise, Jim turned to glare at the doctor. "What the hell are you doing?" 

"You would be?" The doctor stepped closer and eyed Jim as one would a particularly interesting bug. 

"Detective Jim Ellison. This man is in my protective custody. Now, what the hell are you doing?" 

"I'm Dr. Dan Brady. I need to do a rape kit on this man as ordered by your captain here." The doctor glanced at Simon briefly, then his eyes swung back to Jim. "Blair has been through some severe trauma. I'd like to give him a sedative to keep him calm while I do the exam." 

"I can keep him calm," Jim said. He reached a hand back and held it out toward Blair. Almost immediately, the terrified crying stopped and a shaky hand closed around Jim's fingers. 

The doctor watched for a moment, then nodded to the nurses. "Okay, Mike. You can go. Chris, I'll need your help with this. You want to go set up while I administer the sedative?" 

The nurse nodded and headed over to the cupboards along the wall. Jim took a step backward so that his body blanketed Blair's from the doctor. "I said I can keep him calm." 

The doctor nodded. "Fine. He's in severe pain right now, both from the beatings he's endured and the rape. He's also half-starved, badly dehydrated and exhausted. I still want him to have the sedative so he can get some rest. Switch off for awhile. Plenty of time for him to think about all of this tomorrow. He's going to have nightmares enough, detective." The doctor's dark brown eyes were kind. Jim wondered why he hadn't noticed that before. He nodded and turned back to Blair. 

"Hey there, Chief. Remember me." Blair nodded slowly, one hand reaching up to brush his matted curls from his face. "Good. That's good," Jim said, smiling. "Will you let the doctor give you this medicine. He's going to put it into your IV, so there won't even be a stick. Right?" The last said to the doctor. 

Dan Brady nodded and stepped around Jim to look at Blair. "It's just something to take the pain away, Blair and let you get some rest." 

Blair shook his head. "No," he whispered hoarsely. "No drugs please. I don't want to dream." 

"How about if I stay with you while you get some rest? If I see you're dreaming, I'll wake you up," Jim suggested. "How about that? You're exhausted and sick, you need to rest." 

The young man hesitated a moment, then acquiesced. He allowed Jim to lay him back against the pillow, watching apprehensively as the drug was injected into his IV port. Within seconds, he was almost asleep, his breathing calm, his gaze never leaving Jim's face. 

Jim leaned over so that his face was close to Blair's. "The doctor needs to take a look at you, Blair. We know you were raped and he wants to check to see if you're hurt down there. It would also help us to find the man responsible if we can get a semen sample. Is that all right with you?" 

Blair nodded once more then turned his face to stare pointedly at Simon. The captain took the hint. "I've got to get back to the station, Jim. Let me know as soon as you get anything." 

0~0~0~0~0 

Jim brushed an unruly strand of hair from Blair's face and stood up, massaging his aching back. The rape examination had taken some time. There was no semen to collect, the rapist had obviously worn a condom but there was plenty evidence of forced intercourse. Then the doctor had done a more extensive examination of Blair's body. He kept up a running commentary as he did so, knowing that Blair was deeply asleep and would not be distressed by the details. 

"He's got some deep bruising to his rectum and anus, Detective, and some tearing. I don't think it requires sutures, though they'll cause him some pain for a while." The doctor straightened and proceeded to examine the rest of Blair's body. "He was beaten with a belt at some stage recently. He has severe bruising and some minor cuts to his back as well as to his throat." The doctor ran a gentle finger around the darkened patches of skin. "He's also running a fever and his lungs are congested." He looked up at Jim and knuckled his reddened eyes. "All together, he's been beaten and abused in the worst possible way." He sighed. "You probably see worse than I do, Detective. What makes people turn into animals, do you suppose?" He absently stroked Blair's creased brow as he spoke. 

Jim shrugged and gave an answering sigh. "You got me, doc. Look, I've got to go to the station and write up my report on this. Has Blair's mother been notified?" 

The doctor nodded. "She's on her way in." 

"Okay. I'll be back as quickly as I can." He walked from the head of the bed and stood, looking down at the slumbering man. With no conscious thought, he reached out and took Blair's lax hand, squeezing it softly. At the doctor's surprised look, he just smiled softly. "Sometimes they get to you." As he opened the door to the room, a woman pushed her way past him and rushed to Blair's side. 

"Blair? Can you hear me, sweetie? It's Mom." 

"He's been heavily sedated, Mrs. Sandburg," Dan Brady said as he stepped up to the woman and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Here, why don't you sit down and I'll explain his condition to you?" 

The woman nodded and clutched her flowing black coat about her shoulders as she sat. She looked questioningly at Jim and the detective stepped toward her. "I'm Detective Jim Ellison, Mrs. Sandburg." 

The slim redheaded woman took his proffered hand and shook it. "It's Ms, actually. Are you the officer who found Blair?" 

"Yes, ma'am, I am," Jim answered. 

"Then I owe you my undying gratitude." She smiled widely and stood, then to Jim's surprise, wrapped her arms about him and hugged him soundly, before pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. "I had almost given up hope," she said, as she wiped a stray tear from her cheek and sat back down to clutch at her son's hand. "Almost." 

"I was just doing my job," Jim answered and winced at the bland words. He turned back to the doctor. "I'll be back later today. Could you get someone to call me if Blair wakes up?" 

"Of course." He turned to Blair's mother. "There'll be a nurse coming in shortly to clean Blair up, give him a sponge bath, so he can rest more comfortably." 

"I can do that," Naomi said. 

Dan Brady nodded. "Fine. I'll get the nurse to leave the things with you. When I come back, I'll explain his treatment and condition to you." 

Naomi shook her head firmly. "No drugs. Blair wouldn't want them. Only homeopathic treatments." 

"Mrs. Sandburg, Blair has a mild pneumonia on top of his injuries. If it isn't treated with antibiotics, his condition could become life-threatening." 

"Then so be it, doctor. Blair is my son. I don't want him having chemicals pushed into his body. I'm sure there are plenty of homeopathic treatments out there that will do the job just as well, with less side effects." 

Jim stepped forward. "Mrs. Sandburg, I'm sure you only want the best for your son. Blair's an adult, why don't you let him make the decision when he wakes up." 

Naomi closed her mouth with an audible snap, but nodded and turned back to Blair, taking one pale hand in hers. 

Dan Brady escorted Jim from the room, leaving mother and son alone. "Thanks for your support," the doctor said to the detective. "The last thing that young man needs right now is an opportunistic infection." 

Jim shook the doctor's hand. "Do me a favor. Keep him on the antibiotics at least until he wakes up and can decide for himself." 

0~0~0~0~0 

In the end, Jim got caught up interviewing Damon Andrews, the man who had led Blair into the warehouse office on a leash and Simon arranged for Henri Brown and Brian Rafe to take Blair's statement. Jim was disappointed not to be seeing the young man who appeared to have stolen his heart as soon as he'd hoped, but his commitment to putting away the animals that had harmed Blair and probably murdered several others, outweighed his personal wishes. 

Andrews had little to say for himself, even Jim's menacing presence did little to push the man into a confession. It was more likely, Jim thought that Andrews was more afraid of his boss than he was of the cops. 

Henri and Rafe returned with Blair's statement, though it was sketchy to say the least. "I don't know, man," Henri said, scratching his head. "It was like he was scared of us. He just kept saying he couldn't remember. I couldn't even get him to look at me." 

"He's got good reason to be afraid," Simon said. He looked at Jim. "Why don't you give it another shot tomorrow, Jim. Kid seemed to take a shine to you." 

Jim allowed a small smile to tug at his lips. "Sure, Captain. I'll head over there first thing." 

0~0~0~0~0 

"I'm sorry, Detective," Dr. Dan Brady said. "Mr. Sandburg signed himself out early this morning AMA. I tried to convince him to stay a day or two longer, but he refused. Though I have to admit, I think Mrs. Sandburg's stance on antibiotics had a lot to do with it. She did appear to pressure him into leaving. Insisted she could take better care of him if he was in a familiar environment. Ordinarily, I'd agree, but in his weakened condition, well, let's just hope he continues the meds." 

"I'll speak to him about it," Jim answered. "Do you have an address for him?" 

The doctor nodded and turned to the files. "He was going to stay with his mother for a couple of days, I think. He has a follow-up appointment to see me in a week and he really should seek some counseling. He's suffered substantial trauma, both physical and emotional. He was very upset after learning that the other victim had committed suicide." He scribbled something on a sheet of paper and handed it to Jim. "You might want to encourage him in that direction as well. He seems to trust you." 

"I'll see what I can do." 

0~0~0~0~0 

Blair shuffled slowly from the bedroom to the couch and sat down gingerly. He tried to suppress a moan as his actions awoke sharp pain deep within his body, knowing that if his mother heard him, she'd be hovering again. Blair loved his mother dearly, had missed her terribly during the long days and nights of his captivity and had pushed away any thought that he might not see her again. Right now though, he couldn't bear to be touched. The feel of anyone near him awoke terrifying images of rough hands that hit and bruised and groped, faces that leered and spewed epithets and abuse at him. Except for one. 

Blair had hoped when he awoke once more in the hospital that the big detective would be seated at his side, as he had promised. Instead, Naomi had leaned over him, smothering him with kisses, causing him to shudder violently as he forced himself not to push her away. The man whose touch he yearned, whose large gentle hands invoked a feeling of safety and security was gone. Blair had pushed down his bitter disappointment, realizing that Jim had probably only stayed in the hope of getting more information from him. Blair had obviously misread the man's concern. 

In the wake of his hurt, coupled with the sorrow he felt when he heard that David was dead by his own hand, he allowed Naomi to discharge him from the hospital. Numbly, he followed his mother out the door, the kindly doctor's entreaties to stay longer falling on deaf ears. He pushed the bottle of pills Dan Brady thrust at him into the pocket of his jacket and nodded his thanks. 

They had returned to Naomi's apartment, stopping on the way for herbs that his mother was sure would aid his healing more efficiently than the antibiotics and sedatives prescribed by the hospital. By the time they arrived home, Blair was boneless with fatigue. He eyed the shower yearningly, wondering sadly if he would ever truly feel clean again. In the end, his exhaustion won out and he sprawled fully clothed on his mother's bed and allowed deep and blessedly dreamless sleep to claim him. 

He stretched out carefully onto his side now on the couch and watched Naomi as she flittered around the tiny apartment, humming softly to herself. Allowing his gaze to idly sweep the room, Blair's eyes settled on a bulging suitcase, sitting just inside his mother's bedroom door. "Are you going somewhere?" he asked. 

Naomi stilled her movements and turned toward her son, schooling her features as she did so. "No. Where would I be going?" 

"That's what I asked you," Blair countered as he squirmed and tried to find a comfortable position. 

"Are you in pain, sweetie?" his mother asked anxiously. "How about some tea? I'm sure I've got something here that's better for you than those chemicals the doctor wants to push into you. I'll burn some sage too. Maybe we could meditate together. Find some healing vibes." She smiled brightly as she hurried off to the tiny kitchen, stopping only when Blair called to her once more. 

"Mom, I asked you a question," Blair said. "Where were you going?" 

Naomi sighed and crossed to the couch, where she sat down beside him. She took his hand in hers before she spoke. "You were missing for just over a month," she whispered. "I didn't think there was anything left for me here anymore." 

"You gave up?" Blair felt a deep sorrow tug at his heart. Tears stung the back of his eyes but he blinked them away. 

"No! Not really. I went to see Charlie, my psychic friend. He said he couldn't feel you." 

"I was only ten miles away." Blair forced the words past the lump in his throat. 

"Everyone kept telling me there was no hope, Charlie, the cops. I wanted to believe you were still alive. Everything here reminded me of you. I thought if I went away for awhile, somewhere peaceful, I could refresh my spirit. Come back renewed and start looking for you again. I would never have given up on you, Blair. You have to believe me." 

Blair reached up and brushed away the solitary tear that dribbled down his mother's cheek. "I know," he whispered. "I missed you, Mom." 

Naomi gave him a watery smile and fumbled in her pocket for a handkerchief. "It's all in the past now. You're home where you belong." She was silent for a long moment and Blair prompted her. 

"Mom?" 

"Why did you get into that car? I just find it so hard to believe that you willingly climbed into that car with those men." 

"It was just a guy, Mom," Blair answered tiredly. They'd already had this conversation a dozen times. "I told you, he was just a guy. He saw I was having trouble with my car and offered me a ride to the nearest gas station. He didn't have 'rapist' tattooed on his forehead. You raised me to have faith in people. I had no reason to think anything would happen." 

Naomi looked down and smoothed the edge of the couch. "You know that I've never had a problem with your sexuality. It's not that they were men, it's just...You fought hard, didn't you, Blair? I always thought I would die first before I would ever let anyone do that to me." 

It took him a moment before he truly realized what she was saying and then he surged up on the seat, pushing her to her feet and ignoring the wave of agony that pulsed through him from his feet to his skull at the movement. 

Naomi looked at him in shock. "Blair?" 

Blair staggered to his feet and shook off her supporting hand even as the floor rolled over in a nauseating wave. Pushing away from her cloying embrace, he staggered to the bathroom and dropped to his knees, retching violently. His energy and the contents of his stomach spent, Blair sagged against the cool porcelain of the toilet and fought to catch his breath. 

His mother's comments shook him to the core. It was not something he had considered until now. He had not fought, he realized. He had not thought there was any point in fighting, save to hasten his death. Fresh retching doubled him over once more as a thought came unbidden to his mind. Was that what Naomi would have preferred? A dead, virginal son, rather than one alive but soiled? 

Faint voices from the other room brought him back to himself and he reached up to snag a washcloth from the hand basin, wiping it over his sweaty face. Pushing himself to his feet, he stood for a moment, holding tightly to the basin as his balance wavered. Looking into the mirror, he closed his eyes at the image that greeted him. It was not a face he recognized. 

He took a moment more to collect himself, then opened the door and stepped out into the other room. The tall detective from the night before sat on the armchair that faced the bathroom door and stood up as Blair exited. As the man stepped toward him, hand outstretched, Blair felt a shudder of fear run through him. He backed away until he was pressed against the door behind him. Trembling, lost in his memory, he held up a staying hand and shook his head. 

"No," he whispered tremulously. "Please don't hurt me anymore." 

"Mr. Sandburg? Blair? It's me, Jim. Do you remember me?" 

The words washed over Blair but he was caught up in the flashback, his ears hearing one thing, but his eyes seeing only a large menacing figure lurching toward him. A warm hand suddenly clasped his own and he started at the touch, then slid down the door to puddle on the floor in a boneless heap. Then the detective was kneeling at his side and Blair was reaching out to him, his hands going automatically around the broad shoulders to clutch convulsively in the big man's shirt. 

He tried to focus on the soothing words that Jim spoke, but his mind could not comprehend their meaning, only knowing that they offered comfort and protection. After what seemed hours, he felt cried out and sat back wearily, leaning his head against the door. "I'm sorry," he said as he took the tissues his mother offered, keeping a few to mop at her own tears. 

"No problem," Jim said as he got to his feet and lowered a hand toward him. Blair accepted the offer and levered himself painfully up. Grateful for the detective's supporting arm about his waist, the young man limped slowly to the couch. 

"Detective Ellison needs to ask you some more questions, sweetie," Naomi said. "I'll make some tea." 

Blair nodded tiredly and waited for his mother to disappear into the alcove before turning to the detective. "I really am sorry, Detective. I don't know what came over me." 

Jim waved away his apology. "Flashbacks aren't uncommon, after what you've been through, Mr. Sandburg. Seeing me again probably triggered the memory." 

Blair nodded, then pointed to a large wet spot on Jim's shirt. "I ruined your shirt again." 

Jim looked at the spot and brushed at it absently with his fingers. "I've got other shirts," he replied, smiling gently. The two men observed each other for a moment, and then Jim mentally shook himself. "My captain asked me to come and see if you can add anymore to the statement you gave Detective Brown yesterday." 

Blair pulled himself upright on the couch, wincing as he did so. "Oh, right. I thought... You weren't there when I woke up," Blair said, aware that he sounded like a petulant child. "I thought perhaps you got everything you needed." He massaged at the growing headache between his eyes. "What did you want to know?" 

"Anything you can remember from the night you were kidnapped until you were freed," Jim said, pulling a small notebook and pen from his breast pocket. "Anything that will put these animals away before they can hurt anyone else." 

Blair looked away and fixed his eyes on the far wall. "I'm not sure how much of what I remember is real," he began. "I was on my way home from a party. It was the last week of summer break and one of my fellow TA's invited me to his engagement party. My car broke down and I decided to hitch a ride the rest of the way home." He glanced at Jim with chagrin. "I've heard all the lectures and nothing's ever happened..." He broke off suddenly, a lump threatening to choke him. 

"Go on." 

Blair took a deep breath to compose himself. "A car stopped. The driver asked me if I wanted a ride to a gas station. I got in. I don't remember anything until I woke up. In the pit." He heard his mother's indrawn breath and raised his voice to her. "Naomi? I could really use some juice. Would you mind going to the store?" 

Naomi bustled in with a laden tea tray and set it on the coffee table. "No, of course I don't mind. I'll just get my purse." Returning from the bedroom, she pressed a quick kiss to her son's forehead. "You have a fever. I told you those antibiotics will do nothing but poison your system." 

Blair smiled tiredly at her. "That's why I need the juice." She nodded at Jim and left the apartment. 

"Can you describe the man in the car?" 

"What?" Blair shook himself from his reverie. "Sorry. Yes, it was Andrews, the man who..." He broke off again and motioned to the bruises circling his throat with a finger. 

Jim nodded. "Okay. What about the others at the warehouse?" 

"Not much," Blair answered. His head was beginning to throb with the beginnings of a migraine and he lay back once more and closed his eyes. "We, the other guys who were taken and I, used to talk together at night, try to figure out ways to escape. We gave each other messages to pass on to our families, so they wouldn't give up hope. So they'd keep looking for us." Tears began to overflow his eyes once more and he wiped at them ineffectually with his palm. "They put sedatives in the water. After a while, you were so thirsty you didn't care. It was good to escape for a bit." 

"What about the man who raped you? Can you describe him?" 

Blair eased open his heavy eyelids. The detective sat on the armchair opposite him, his gaze unwaveringly on the notepad in front of him. Wincing at the light that streamed in through the window opposite, Blair closed his eyes once more. "He was tall, as tall as you, but fat, really fat. He had a scar," Blair demonstrated with one finger, then wiped impatiently as another tear ran down his cheek. "It ran through his eye to his mouth." 

"Did he," Jim's voice seemed to waver slightly. "Did he threaten you? Hurt you?" 

"He handcuffed me to his desk and shoved his fingers up my ass, closely followed by his cock. That hurt." Blair's voice broke on the words and he sat up abruptly. He doubled over as the pain in his head reached a new crescendo and he could not suppress the moan that was torn from his lips. 

The detective's hand was suddenly on his back, the big man leaning over him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. Are you all right? Do you need a doctor?" 

Blair shook his head vehemently and immediately regretted it. "I'm fine," he ground out through clenched teeth. "Please leave." 

"Can I get something for you? Did the doctor give you something for pain?" Jim persisted. 

Blair shook his head once more and staggered to his feet. "If I think of anything, I'll phone your captain." 

Jim pulled a small card from his pocket and pressed it into Blair's hand, squeezing his fingers lightly for a moment. "This is my business card," he said. "It's got my work and cell phone number on it, as well as my home number. Please, don't hesitate to call, if you need anything." 

"Thank you," Blair managed to get out as he fought off another round of nausea. He staggered toward the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind him. Faintly, over his retching, he heard the front door slam shut. 

* * *

Concluded in [Part Two](keyto_a.html).

Link to text version of part two: http://www.squidge.org/archive/cgi-bin/convert.cgi?filename=1/keyto_a


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